So here is the first chapter of my first Walking Dead fic, All That Remains! I got the title from a line of Bastille's 'Skulls', which I recommend you listen to! I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I checked this thing like 100 times but if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes, then let me know and I'll fix them!

Disclaimer: I'm only gonna do this once - I don't own anything you recognise, only my OC Eleanor and any other original characters.

I hope you like it, on with the show!

"When all of our friends are dead and just a memory
And we're side by side, it's always been just you and me
For all to see.

"When our lives are over and all that remains
Are our skulls and bones, let's take it to the grave,
And hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms.
I'll be buried here with you,
And I'll hold in these hands
All that remains."

Skulls - Bastille

It changes you.

The end of the world.

Makes you do things you wouldn't have normally done before it all went to shit.

Which is why, a month into the outbreak, I was standing behind an African-American man with an arrow aimed at the back of his head.

"What's this, a ranger caught off his guard?"

Trust me when I say that there is never a bad time for a Lord of The Rings quote, especially when you're going to mug a man for anything he has.

Like I said, the end of the world changes you and makes you do things you wouldn't have normally done before.

The man slowly raised his hands and turned his head to look at the one who could be the reason he would starve that night.

"Please," he said with calm in his eyes, which twitched to something behind the right of me.

My eyes widened and I spun around, quickly training my aim on a young boy that came out of nowhere holding a gun at my face.

A boy.

With a gun.

I shouldn't have been surprised, really. Not with the whole 'end of the world changes you' thing. But I couldn't hurt him, someone so young that was protecting a man who was clearly his father. Nevertheless, I kept my bowstring tight with the yellow feathers of the arrow-end tickling my cheek.

"I'm not looking to hurt you, I just want some food." I said, keeping my eyes on the father who took the kid's place at aiming the gun at me.

"You bit?"

"No."

"Scratched?"

"No."

A pause, and then, "Just you out here?"

"I've been on my own from the start." I answered, silently praying that maybe they were part of a group or knew how to get out of this bloody country. It was true though, ever since the plane lifted off from my home of London, I had been on my own.

"What's your name?"

"Eleanor." I answered. "My name's Eleanor."

The man looked me up and down. I knew that I didn't exactly look like I was starving.

"I'm big boned, okay?" I retorted, starting to gently loosen my bowstring, letting my arrow point at the ground. "How do I know you're not bit?"

"The fact that we ain't got a fever and we're not trying eat you." He countered, the barrel of his gun gradually lowering to the tarmac of the road.

"Fair point." I nodded my head to the side once before continuing, "So… about that food."

"Oh we got plenty!" The young boy blurted out eagerly with a nod, earning a reproaching look from his father. "Uhh, I mean, we ain't got no food."

I raised an eyebrow.

"We have some food," the man corrected, looking back at me, "I s'pose… we could spare a couple a' cans."

A sigh of relief left me just as my stomach growled quietly. "Thank you, uh…"

"Morgan," he replied, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder, "and this is Duane, my son."

Morgan pushed his gun into his belt and I put my arrow back into its quiver.

"So, which way to the food?" I wasn't not usually this brusque, but I hadn't eaten properly since yesterday and all that I had was three strawberries. I don't even like strawberries.

Morgan nodded down the road and begun to lead the way, Duane by his side as I trailed behind with a spring in my step. I was finally going to eat some proper food!

I followed them as we passed a few streets in silence, some Growlers littering the pathways, but we made sure to be quick and quiet. We finally made a turn down a street filled with white picket houses, but a few Growlers were scattered about the road. I nocked an arrow ready to free it on any undead that wanted to get too close to me.

Morgan told Duane to go around the back of the houses and make sure the way was clear. From where I was standing beside Duane, I inspected a small side alley that led behind the houses and it was obvious that there would be no undead there. Morgan must have been protecting his son by giving him false responsibility to make him more compliant to his father's orders. And that's what studying Psychology in college will get you.

"Take her with you." He instructed, giving a pat to his son's shoulder.

"Wait," My neck almost snapped with the speed that my head twisted around to look at Morgan with wide eyes, "What?"

"You've got those arrows, and there a hell of a lot quieter than any gun. I'm trusting you to protect my boy while you clear the way, alright?"

I just stared at him with my mouth opening and closing like a fish, watching as he didn't wait for an answer and continued walking down the street leaving me with Duane.

"So…" I said, turning to the kid and rocking on my heels. "I've got to protect your butt, huh?"

He smiled with a short giggle, which made my frown fade into near non-existence, and I followed him as he stepped into the alley.

As I predicted, the back path was completely empty. It was just wide enough for two people to walk side by side, and going by the metal rubbish bins that sat behind each house it was primarily used for garbage. Trees sheltered the path from the sun, and offered a cool relief from the sweltering Georgian heat as we picked our way through the fallen trash cans. As we neared the end, Duane wandered past me and picked up a shovel that was leaning against the back of the last house.

"That'll come in handy," I nodded towards it and Duane looked up at me hopefully.

"Think so?"

"Know so."

He smiled again as he looked at the new found weapon in his hands.

"C'mon, we should keep going or your dad is going to think I've done something to you and feed me to Growlers or something."

"Growlers?" Duane glanced at me again, taking a moment to think. "We call 'em Walkers."

"Walkers," I repeated with a single, approving nod, "I like it. C'mon."

With his new shovel in hand, Duane continued cautiously around the corner of the final house. When I got to see around the corner, a 'Walker' in a hospital patient's robe was perched on the steps leading up to the path of a house. It was weird. I had never seen them sitting down before.

Duane was already taking almost silent steps towards it with his shovel, so I let the kid go in for the kill. I'd shoot the thing if things got out of hand. He got right behind it until Duane stepped on a twig causing the Growler to turn its head around, only to get a mouthful of shovel with a sound twang that made the undead man fall back.

I snorted.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Duane yelled to Morgan who was making his way towards us.

"Carl…" The Walker murmured.

Wait…

What?

"Carl," it rasped again, gazing upwards, "I've found you."

"Daddy, I got this son of a bitch! I'm a' smack him dead!"

I have to say: I love this kid.

A bang rang out as Morgan shot a Walker heading towards him in the road, and he ran to us.

"He say something?" Morgan asked as he pushed Duane away from it. "I thought I heard him say something."

"He called me Carl."

"I thought they don't talk." I shook my head, arrow still nocked.

"They don't," Morgan said, "Hey mister, what's that bandage for?"

"Wha… What?" The man struggled to lift his head up, and a confused frown similar to my own furrowed his brows.

"What kind of wound?" Now Morgan had a gun aimed at the guy's head. Looks like I wasn't the only one who was going to have Morgan's gun in their face today. "You answer me, damn you. What's your wound?" Still no answer. "You tell me," Morgan cocked his gun and I shifted my feet uneasily. "Or I will kill you."

This is getting a tad extreme, but I'll roll with it.

Before he could answer, the man went cross eyed and fell back as he went unconscious, and I tried my best not to laugh at the sight.

Any mirth inside me soon dissipated away though when I learned I had to help Morgan drag the guy all the way back to the house that they were staying at a mile away.

Alright, it was more like three houses down the street - but it feels like a mile when you're attempting to carry a man who has a higher muscle to fat ratio than you and is easily six foot tall.

I loathed my stature at that moment, wishing that I was taller than the Martin Freeman height I was; it just made the job more difficult. The stairs were the worst part once we got to the two storey house though, and Duane had to help me carry his legs. Grunting, we laid him onto a bed in what looked like a spare room. Morgan went to a desk that was opposite the bed and came back with some strips of fabric and bandages.

"Eleanor," He began tying the man's wrists to the bedframe with the rags, "I need you to go downstairs and cook up some of the cans while I deal with him. Duane, help her out."

"Yes, Daddy."

Once again I apparently had no say in the matter, and once again I was trailing behind Duane as he led me to the kitchen, showing and telling me hurriedly how to work the cooking equipment that looked like it was normally used for camping trips. He was obviously curious about the man and itching to get back to his father.

"Just go upstairs, Duane," I said with a knowing smirk, "You're practically vibrating."

"Yes, ma'am." And off the kid went, bounding up the stairs to the other men. I browsed the cans of food that were available, picking one up before putting it down picking up another. But my mind was in a different place and, with my head tilted and my lips pressed together, I thought about the guy we had found.

He was wearing patients' garbs, was just sat outside the house like a sitting duck for Walkers, and had no shoes (nor underwear for that matter, which I knew thanks to the unfortunate angle of view I had as we carried him upstairs). It was as if he had missed the whole thing; slept through it or something.

Later I'd find that my speculations were very accurate.

A creaking floorboard from the floor above shook me out of my thoughts, making me straighten my head. I set to completing my task, filling up the cooking pots with tins of whatever looked good. A couple of cans of baked beans did the job and soon the food was gradually heating up. I admit that I may have dipped my fingers in the pots and had a little taster while it was warming.

I was hungry, alright?

It wasn't too long until Morgan and Duane descended the stairs and took over the cooking. Morgan began dishing it up after handing me four bowls.. I placed two down on the table, gave one to Duane and kept one to myself, and then Morgan spooned the food into our bowls. It smelled better than anything I had ever smelled before, but that was probably because I was starving. It took every ounce of the little self-control I had to stop myself from wolfing my bowl of beans down as I waited for Morgan and Duane to get their dishes filled so we could eat. Just as I sat down with my hands under my thighs to prevent myself from grabbing the spoon that lay so close to the hot food, a shuffling reached my ears from the right of me.

The man, now with a fresh clean bandage secured around his middle and a blanket draped over him, stood at the bottom of the stairs. Looks like Morgan didn't kill the guy after all. He looked at the three of us before shuffling into the living room where Morgan and Duane had made beds. Although I could not see him, I could hear the man talk to Morgan as Duane and I sat down. I went for my spoon but Duane grabbed my arm and shook his head.

More waiting? Really?

"This place," the man said, his gravelly voice slightly muffled through the wall, "It's Fred and Cindy Drake's."

"Never met them." That was Morgan talk for 'I don't care' apparently.

"I've been here. This is their place."

"It was empty when we got here." Morgan replied with a one sided shrug. My grip on the spoon tightened.

My stomach was empty when we got here.

The man shuffled over the windows, which were covered with various blankets and rugs, and made to pull them back.

"Don't do that- they'll see the light." Morgan warned. "There's more of them out there than usual. I never should have fired that gun today. The sound draws them, now they're all over the street. Stupid… using a gun…"

I'll agree with you there…

"It all happened so fast…I didn't think." Morgan took his seat at the head of the table and my stomach growled impatiently again. We could finally eat now that the man of the house had sat down.

"You shot that man today." The guy said, tilting his bearded face to side with the blanket still wrapped around him. He looked like a hairy man-baby in my opinion.

"Man?"

"Weren't no man," Duane shook his head.

"What the hell was that out of your mouth just now?" His father scolded him. Thank God some people still held correct grammar highly.

"It wasn't a man."

"You shot him, in the street," the man said, "Out front. A man."

"Mate, you need glasses," I spoke up, wanting this conversation to go quicker so I could freaking eat, "That was a Walker. Come and sit down, so we can all eat."

As I keep saying, I was starving.

"Sit down," Morgan reiterated to the man after giving me a look, "Before you fall down. Here, eat."

The man sat down across from me, and we both lurched for out spoons to dig in to the golden deliciousness that was baked beans.

"Daddy," I didn't bother hiding rolling my eyes at the kid's words. What now, Duane? "Blessing."

I stopped my spoon right before it broke the surface of the beans, and held back a whine as I placed it on the table beside my bowl, the guy doing the same. Morgan took Duane's hand and Duane took mine which was resting on the table. The man looked at Morgan before they joined hands, then he looked to me.

"We're going to be holding hands when we still don't know each other's names." I smirked. "How wayward."

"Rick Grimes." He replied, a hint of an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Eleanor Darnley, at your service." And with that we gingerly joined hands as Morgan said grace.

"Father, we thank thee for this food," Amen, "And thy blessings. We ask you to watch over us in these crazy days, amen."

I didn't even give myself time to mutter 'amen' before I shovelled the beans into my mouth as fast as my wrist could manage. Trust me, even something like baked beans will taste like heaven dipped in multi-coloured sprinkles and coated in the voice of Benedict Cumberbatch if you haven't eaten properly in a couple of days. I was fully aware that I was eating like a pig but if I'm perfectly honest with you I didn't give a flying fuck, and so I let the men converse between themselves as I basked in the holy goodness of a slowly filling stomach.

"Hey, mister," Morgan began, "Do you even know what is going on?"

"I woke up today, in a hospital. Came home, that's all I know."

Like I said, I make accurate speculations.

"But you know about the dead people, right?"

"Yeah, I saw a lot of that. Out on the loading dock, piles in trucks."

"No… not the ones they put down. The ones they didn't. The Walkers, like the one I shot today, 'cause he would have ripped into you, try to eat you, take him some flesh at least." Rick's eyes narrowed in confusion at Morgan's words, "But I guess this is the first you're hearing it, I know how it must sound…"

"It sounds like the undead are trying to eat the living…" I mumbled around a mouthful of beans before swallowing, "which is exactly what's happening."

Either they didn't hear my muttering or they chose to ignore it. Probably the latter; there was no need for cynicism right now. But what could I say? I'm a mean, not so lean, wit machine.

"They're out there now, in the street?" Risk asked, a spoonful of beans hovering in front of his mouth.

"Yeah, they get more active after dark sometimes," Morgan informed him, "Maybe it's the cool air or Hell, maybe it's just me firing up that gun today." That'll do, pig. "But we'll be fine as long as we stay quiet. Probably wander off by morning."

I leaned back in my chair and sighed once I spooned the last bit of bean out of the bowl and shoved it in my mouth, watching Rick as he tried to take all this crazy information in. Still, he was finding out the nice way, whereas most of us had to discover this new world by ourselves as if our hands were tied behind our backs and we were shoved into a cage of rabid, starving, undead dogs.

"Well, listen," Morgan continued, and it was only then that I noticed a golden band around one of his fingers, "One thing I do know: don't you get bit. We saw your bandage and that's what we were afraid of; bites kill you. The fever burns you out, but then after a while… you come back."

"Seen it happen…" Duane piped up from beside me, and I did the maths in my head. The wedding ring, the absence of a woman. Morgan gave a gentle squeeze to his son's arm, and the three males continued eating.

Do you believe that I had been starving now?

The awkward silence was too much though, so I spread out my arms with a fake smile and put on a quite convincing American accent.

"Welcome to Georgia! Here we have: the walking dead!"

Duane polished off his bowl first, then Rick and Morgan followed shortly after. Morgan asked Duane to collect the bowls and place them in the sink, and his son dutifully followed his orders. Rick and I were shown where we would be sleeping, and it turned out the mattresses were comfier than I thought because as soon as my arse touched the makeshift bed across from Rick, I knew I wasn't going to be getting up anytime soon.

We all reclined on our mattresses, and Duane soon joined Morgan in their double mattress. My bow and quiver were where I left them beside my chosen bed when we dragged an unconscious Rick into the house, and I gave them a proud pat. Wendy and the Girls had helped me survive so far, and I wasn't planning on losing them any time soon.

Yes, I named my bow and arrows, get over it.

A sort of comfortable silence overtook us as we all (I guess it wasn't just me) slipped into our own little worlds and thought about various things. First I thought about the irritating pain in my back, but I couldn't be bothered to even check what it was as all my energy had just been sapped out of me once I lay back on the mattress, but I guess that would happen if you hadn't slept for more than an hour a night for the past month or so.

I looked at Rick across from me who was still wrapped in a blanket, and looked to be in deep thought as he stared off to the side. To the left of me, Duane was drifting off to sleep and I managed to catch the very moment he did. His eyes had fluttered closed with his brows pinched together but they relaxed like his breathing did, slowly and eventually. I doubt that he still had his innocence, but I hoped that somewhere, right at the back of him, Duane still held onto however much of it was left.

It was strange; I was caring for a boy who I had only met not six hours ago and yet here I was, wishing for his survival in this big bad world. I guess it was my sibling instinct kicking in.

"Carl… he your son?" Morgan asked in a murmur, careful not to wake his son.

"He's a little younger than your boy." Rick finally stopped staring at the ground and turned his head towards Morgan.

"Is he with his mum?" I tilted my head at the man-baby.

"I hope so."

"Dad?" Duane mumbled, awaking from his short-lived slumber. "Did you ask him?"

"We got a little bet going," Morgan explained with a smile as he glanced between us, "Your gunshot…My boy says you're a bank robber."

"Yeah, that's me. Deadly as Dillinger- kapow," Rick played along with an indulgent smile similar to Morgan's. It reminded me of my father's. I guess all men get born with the father smile. Arthur sometimes smiled at me like that too; a toothy grin full of pride, amusement and love.

"Sheriff's deputy." Rick, or should that be Sheriff Rick, added on a more serious note.

"Uhuh…" Morgan nodded, as if he didn't quite believe him. Suddenly, a car alarm began to blare from outside and Duane shot up in panic. "Hey, it's okay, daddy's here. It's nothing, one of them must've bumped a car."

"You sure?" I asked, raising my eyebrows questioningly at the boarded windows, "It could be anything…" Duane whimpered quietly and I realised I wasn't exactly helping. "Yeah, they must have walked into a car or something, the stupid things."

"Happened once before," Morgan nodded, "Went off for a few minutes. Get the light, Duane."

The oil lamp was dimmed, and I found the strength to stretch my arm out and dim the lamp beside me. The two men clambered up and stepped towards the boarded window almost silently, and Morgan peeled back a small section of blanket to peek outside. I myself was too tired and weary to get up, so I watched their faces as closely as I could in the darkness for any signs of incoming danger.

"It's the blue one, down the street," Morgan stepped back to let Rick peep through, "Same one as last time. I think we're okay."

We better be, because I'm too tired to do anything right now.

"That noise…will it bring more of them?" Rick asked, and Duane creeped his way towards the window like a freaking ninja. I didn't even hear him get up; I swear this kid's a hobbit or something.

"Nothing to do about it now," the sheriff was answered, "Just have to wait 'em out till morning."

"She's here." Duane gasped, making me sit up straight and let my hand linger over my Wendy.

"Don't look, get away from the windows," Morgan insisted to his son, "I said go, come on!"

Duane ran from the window and flung himself to his mattress, loud sobs leaving him. Morgan immediately comforted his son, urging him to be quiet.

"Who? What is it?" I asked Rick as he backed away from the window and shuffled towards the door, but he only gave me a look that said 'I'm going to find out' and he continued past me.

"It's okay, here," Morgan grabbed a pillow and used it to muffle Duane's sobs, "You remember? Shh…"

I heard the door handle rattle and my hand closed around my bow, my other sliding an arrow out. Rick slowly backed into the room again and lowered a flattened hand at my bow. I frowned and paused my actions for a moment before pushing the arrow back into the quiver and leaning back against the wall, my bow still in my lap.

"She, uh… she died in the other room on that bed… Nothing I can do about it… that fever, man… her skin gave off heat like a furnace… I should have put her down, I should have put her down, I know that but… you know what… I just didn't have it in me… She's the mother of my child."

Oh.

I lowered my stare to my hands in my lap, absentmindedly picking out the dirt underneath my fingernails. Morgan's emotional anecdote made me think of my own family, something I had put off for a while now in an attempt to save me from the pain. What they were doing? Where they were, if they were still alive? Was Arthur okay?

The door handle squeaked as it continued to turn. Sighing, I lay down properly and turned away from the boys, hugging my quiver to my chest. I didn't let myself cry- there wasn't time for that anymore- so I focused on ridding my mind of any gory situations my family could be in, my jaw clenching with the effort. I was more exhausted than I thought, and before I knew it I was out like a light.

So there it is! Hopefully you liked it, and if you did I'd love to hear what you thought! What were your favourite bits or lines?
If you didn't like it, then I'd still like to know why! :)

So please, review, favourite or follow because it shows me whether or not you liked it and if I should write anymore!

- LMWH ^.^